


The Path of Sun and Moon

by laEsmeralda



Series: Linnod [6]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-22 02:05:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6066556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laEsmeralda/pseuds/laEsmeralda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Frodo leaves for Valinor, Legolas cannot bear their separation. He leaves Minas Tirith in a self-destructive state of mind and disappears into the wilds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Path of Sun and Moon

_For such is the way of it: to find and lose, as it seems to those whose boat is on the running stream. ___

\-- Legolas to Gimli, The Fellowship of the Ring, Farewell to Lórien.

*******

Legolas ran. His mind coiled in on itself. He had been many weeks with no conversation, wit, or books to stave off brooding. He no longer sang or laughed. His brows set in hard, unfamiliar lines.

He ate little food and made no kills, though the miles burned hard beneath his boots and weakened him. He slept only a few hours at stretch, on hard, rocky ground, avoiding the touch of trees. They sweetened the air for him, whispered to him of their worry for the disquiet in his spirit, sang to comfort him. He ignored them.

He did not bathe. Being an elf, he did not fester or grow rank, but his clothing grew ragged and the dust and mud of travel were only lessened by his refusal to take shelter from the rain.

Most of all, he did not answer his body's craving for self-pleasure. The harder he ached for release, the more he hurt himself in other ways. He took perverse comfort in the anchor of ordinary physical pain. 

In his heart, he blamed desire for the complications of his life. The scholar in him insisted that answering his body's call to love had conferred on him and his lovers greater gain than loss. In his soul, he knew that faced with the separate calls of Frodo and Aragorn, he would choose both again, even knowing beforehand the price to his heart.  
*******

Two months before, after word arrived that Frodo had reached the Havens and sailed, Legolas and Gimli started the journey from the Shire to Minas Tirith. Frodo had not allowed Legolas to travel with him to the sea, and Legolas had refused to leave Bag End until he knew for certain that Frodo was not coming back.

Gimli had been restrained for the first several days of the ride, showing quiet support. Legolas had known the silence was not easy, for he could sense Gimli's agitation growing over the miles. He had taken small comfort in knowing that riding behind him, his friend could not see the tears welling and dripping. He also knew that he could not hide his heart and mind from one so dear. Without armor between them, Gimli could easily feel his sighing breath, the tension in his muscles. 

By the fourth day, Gimli could wait no longer to speak, and he did not dress his words in finery. "You made the right decision," he said simply, "It is what Frodo wanted."

Legolas swallowed to steady his voice. "No, it is what he believes I needed. The very thought crazes me."

"If that is what he thought, then he was sorely mistaken. It wasn't in you to choose between them, not for yourself." The gruffness of Gimli's voice conveyed his anger at an unjust situation. "You would have felt the same parting from Aragorn."

Although Legolas was open with Aragorn and Frodo, he did not discuss one with the other unless specifically asked. He had been careful in his conversations with Arwen as well. It had been a relief these few years that there was one person to whom he could speak freely about both his loves. Now however, Gimli wished to defend Legolas to himself, to heal him, and this did not sit well with the elf's deep remorse. 

"Frodo tried to spare me by usurping any choice to stay or go, commanding me to stay in Arda so long as Aragorn lives. But I could have defied him. I still could."

"He would put you aside."

"He would not, not after all I will have given up to be with him."

"I think you will break his heart in another way then, Legolas. It was not a test. He had his reasons. You must respect them."

"I felt, perhaps too easily, that he was right, that there were other compelling reasons to stay behind. I comforted myself that he forbade me to leave and I obeyed. But my heart is sick in me, Gimli."

"It is only grief, Elf, no stranger to either of us. Give it time. Long ago, it hewed itself a cave inside me that I've grown accustomed to providing, just as the mountains allow a place for us to dwell and are not diminished by it."  
*******

Something else tore at Legolas. Hindsight. When Frodo left him at Bag End, Legolas wept for his own pain in the parting. But it was the truth of Frodo's heart, which Legolas could feel hidden behind a mask of strength and force of will, that wracked him almost beyond repair. Although Frodo would gain a new life in Valinor, where none of his kind had ever gone before, he would also lose nearly everyone and everything he loved. 

Had Legolas sailed with Frodo, Aragorn would have other balms to soothe his hurt: another great love, devoted friends, a future of children, and his people.  
*******

The prince had spent his last nights with Frodo sleeplessly watching over him, memorizing anew his form and his breath, filling scroll after scroll with his thoughts of love, loss, admiration, and remorse. He hid these scrolls deep within Frodo's effects so they would not be found before the voyage. He would do or say nothing to dissuade the Ring-bearer from leaving.

Now, the thoughts contained in one difficult passage dominated his mind.  
**

_In the shadow of your heart these days, I feel weak and unworthy in my actions._

_It is clear to me that you were meant to be mated with an elf. Had I not devoured you myself, distracted you from finding another companion here or on the other side of the sea, I could have spared you the pain I see in your eyes each of these last days we have together. That is the most difficult thing to bear._

_I am not free, and did not foresee having to choose. Perhaps this is why you have taken my choice, forbidding me to follow. I fear that you believe that I love him more. It is not so. The trees do not love the sun less than the moon, or more._  
**

Legolas felt sure that his enormous capacity for lust had betrayed them both. For this, he shunned himself. By refusing this need, he also made certain there would be no connection made with Aragorn. That the hunger caused him to wake in the nights, stained with the spill of dreams, only made him more determined. Both hunter and hunted, he resolved to bring himself to ground. If he survived, the hide of the Great Lover would hang on his wall, the beast vanquished, and he would have peace forever. 

But the beast would not die softly. Thoughts of touch came unbidden, and he needed no one's hands to tease him to hardness, even in a state of exhaustion. He breathed, he meditated, he ignored. 

After Legolas dreamed of the impossible, Frodo and Aragorn taking him together, the force of the pleasure wrenching him from sleep, he more actively punished himself. 

He no longer avoided thorn trees or bramble patches in his path. He veered toward jagged rock holds rather than smooth, and allowed himself to fall when he could easily correct his balance. He did not see to his wounds and let them bleed freely until they clotted. 

He fought down his thirst, yielding only to small sips of water, never drinking deeply. Finally, on one bite of lembas a day, choked down without the want of it, his slim body began to shrink. He left himself no reserves, and his muscles began to feed on themselves. He was perpetually light-headed and his thoughts drifted. But at last, he mastered himself in one regard and was free of unbidden desire. Only the relentless hollow in his chest remained.

In choosing to stay in Arda, Legolas had lost everyone. He wanted to see none of them. Having loved many times, he felt that the loss of Frodo should have caused him to cling tighter to the bounty of his life, to treat his loved ones more gently, to show them the kindness of his affection. Instead, he had been driven to leave them all, without words of comfort, without explanation. In looking back on it, he realized that what he had left behind in his despair must have seemed like devastating signs. His precious bow, Galadriel's gift, he left unstrung in his room. Arod, who had sensed a journey and neighed restlessly in his stall, he abandoned, leaving him at last kicking and bellowing in desperation. 

Legolas could not bear to think of Gimli waking to an empty bed that first morning. The dwarf had spent their one night back in Minas Tirith prepared for anything. Careful to be ready on less than a moment's notice, sleeping fully clothed for travel in his friend's bed, he never lost contact with Legolas' skin. Still, it had not been difficult for the ancient warrior to extract himself without waking Gimli.

With some shame, Legolas knew that both Gimli and Arwen had feared he might attempt to end his life. Only Aragorn trusted absolutely in his will to live. Legolas was not certain whose foresight would be proved.

He could feel just a shadow of Arwen, even at this vast distance. This connection was a new mystery, because the fragile thread between them had nothing to do with desire or with Aragorn. It was of some comfort that she would know that he lived and would tell the others.

Still, he ran. But he had yet to determine a path.  
*******

Legolas avoided people of any kind. Even so, there were inevitable encounters. 

On one night of pouring rain, he sighted a family of tinkers, their cart deeply mired in the mud. Watching from a distance, he debated with himself. It could be a minor discomfort for them: a dark night, a delay to their destination. But they looked weary and despondent, set upon by many troubles, and the last trouble, however slight, might be the undoing of hope. 

After long minutes of hesitation, he pulled up his hood and gave assistance. He said few words, coaxing the horses to give their all, his hands giving them new strength. He whispered his thanks to them when the cart came free, causing their ears to perk to the sound of his voice. Without speaking to the humans, he slipped away into the tall grass and sheets of rain. 

Tales emerged in the village behind him of a pale and beautiful ghost, a traveler's friend.  
*******

On a blazing bright morning, Legolas awoke to find himself surrounded by young rogues, a tough looking knot of six, bristling with armaments. That he could have slept on so long, despite his keen senses, was evidence to him of how little he cared for anything, least of all safety. 

Clearly, he had nothing to steal; yet they stared at him. He recognized curious lust in them and cautiously sat up. He found himself wondering whether he would even fight back should they try to take him. He remained sitting, cross-legged, his arms casually braced behind him.

The ringleader, an older and cruelly handsome man, stepped up and grabbed a handful of silver hair, yanking Legolas' head back. At another time, the man would have found himself face down in the dirt, begging for his life. 

But Legolas' body responded in a wholly unexpected way, and he realized at once that he craved the hurt, he wished for violence to repair his unwitting arrogance, his lack of discipline. Perhaps if he could rejoin disgust to desire as it had once been so long ago, his future would be different, he would find celibacy easy. Defilement seemed somehow a fitting means. 

His eyes locked with the man's with absolute calm and silently communicated, _Do your worst._

The others gasped and stepped back. "He is fully mad, Orton," one of them said. "Look at his eyes."

"Perhaps I care not," the man bit out, his own eyes black and glittering, studying the remarkable face before him. "A lone elf in the wild, however mad, could be a delicious diversion. Even if he does not have sense enough of himself to fight us." 

After a moment, however, the lack of any fear in his victim irritated him, and he struck Legolas across the face, drawing blood. The others stepped back another pace. Legolas' eyes held steady, challenging for more, a drop of blood flickering on his long lashes. Orton let go of the silver hair and struck again, backhanded, his gaudy rings making their mark as well. Legolas let the blood drip and made no move. 

"Don't spoil him yet!" Someone called out from a safe distance. 

Orton knelt and tore open Legolas' ragged shirt with rough hands, finding no resistance. Travel-worn as Legolas was, the elven glow remained in his flesh, and the first sight of his body drew gasps from the rogues. Without breaking eye contact, Orton boldly slid his hand into the elf's breeches, loose at the waist from his loss of muscle, and found him hard. A surprised jolt crossed between them, and Legolas' eyes lightened to silver.

"Seems to want it too," Orton said, calling a new round of laughter, and squeezing until Legolas' breath caught. "But that's the problem in the end," he continued in a darker tone, his eyes fierce. "It's far better when they fight. And I'm patient." 

Daring worse, Legolas allowed his sneer to show. Orton turned pale with anger and drove his fingernails into the tender flesh. Legolas showed no outward sign of the pain, and his chin came up a notch. Orton's movement pulled the breeches lower, and evidence of Legolas' arousal was exposed to the crowd. In their intensity, neither man nor elf heeded the cheering in response.

Orton kept his gaze locked on Legolas' eyes as they shifted to blue. "So unusual a prize," Orton murmured, reaching with his free hand to adjust himself and lingering with the task. He leaned closer and bit Legolas hard on the neck, tearing at his skin. With appropriate horror, Legolas knew he was close to losing himself. 

"We're just getting started," Orton hissed, his fingers pressing roughly, bringing Legolas dangerously nearer the edge. Filled with self-loathing, Legolas was tempted to fling himself back in the dust and surrender to whatever happened.

One of the rogues spoke again, "He's prettier than that innkeeper's daughter, Captain, but I'll wager he'd last longer under your punishment. Has a tough look about him." The others guffawed nervously.

"They all break and beg, though, don't they? There's never been one that didn't." Orton's voice was deadly. A vision flashed through Legolas' mind then of the destruction this man had already wrought and was teaching to the other rogues. For a moment, he felt the suffering of real victims who did not want the sick attention, the evil sporting that would continue after Legolas. The game with his own body and soul ended there. 

Whipping forward, Legolas kicked Orton flat to his back, tearing the man's hand loose from within his clothing. With a metallic whisper, a knife appeared, glittering, in Legolas' hand, and he knelt close, planting a foot on Orton's solar plexus.

"Move, and I shall unman you." Legolas snarled, and Orton went absolutely still. "If any of your fellows twitch, I shall unman you." Restless shuffling ceased. "In fact, I should ensure that you neither rape nor breed again, Captain." He delivered the title with musical sarcasm.

He thought on what to do, taking his time, separating his anger at himself from his anger at the man. With one hand, he casually tightened the laces of his breeches as he considered the matter. After a time, the answer came. He kept the knife close to the man's groin and put his other hand under Orton's shirt, over his heart. No one dared a snicker. 

Breathing deeply, Legolas searched for the pain Orton had savored from each of his victims. He let the suffering that the man had absorbed for his own pleasure become real in all its dimensions, not attempting to shield himself in any way. Without closing his eyes, he whispered to Orton in elvish and reversed the full flow of sensation back into the man.

The responding shout was soundless with the force of collective horror, but Legolas could see and feel Orton's anguish. He sustained the connection as long as he possibly could. When it was broken, he stumbled away, leaving the man groaning and barely conscious. 

"A consequence precisely equal to your transgressions," Legolas rasped, catching his breath. "That you did not kill your victims, that they had a chance to try to forget you and live past what you did to them, was an ironic mercy to yourself."

He grabbed his pack and swung around to the others. They cowered, for his wrath was terrifying, all hallmarks of Thranduil's son burning out through the weariness and grime, absolute command in his voice. "You!" he pointed to each in turn, "I will recall each of your faces with perfect clarity. When I return to my lands, I will send your captain's name and your likenesses to your authorities under my seal. Find something else to do with your lives. If any of you harm another again, you will rot in chains."

Whether they thought him mad or not, they made no move for weapons but stared openmouthed. Legolas turned and stalked away. 

When he knew they could no longer see him, he resumed his run, and hoped that threats would suffice. After all, he had no plan to return to his lands. 

A few miles later, he wondered if he would have succumbed to the man had the suffering of his victims not intruded. Tears ran freely now, making trails in the dried blood.  
*******

That night, he awoke panicked from a familiar nightmare, a nightmare that Frodo's love had banished for a time. When at last, he calmed, he sat on his blanket, burying his head in his hands. The events of the day understandably called upon these old wounds. He steadied his breath, concentrating on easing the panic. Finally, he could lie back again without feeling utterly vulnerable. He watched the stars for a time, cold and bright in the depths above. 

A soft voice came readily to his mind. _May I touch you here, my love?_

He had replied, _You never need ask me, Frodo._

_I will always ask you, for you are not mine until you give yourself freely, each moment we are together._

Alone now, he wept to know what had been lost.  
*******

Legolas traveled now with a clearer mind, sobered by how far to ill he had gone. But he continued his self-deprivation in all ways, burning down to the most essential of flames, waiting for a vision of his path. 

In the ninth week, Legolas sensed the great cat stalking him. He imagined that his unwashed blood called the beast. And he was weakened. A hunter could sense such things.

No matter his despair, being devoured alive would not be his willing end. Nor did he have the will at this point to take another life for his own. He left the cover of trees for the open plains, confident that the forest animal would not follow him. It did. He was denied sleep as well. 

For four days, neither he nor the cat slept. He simply kept going, forcing the animal to tire itself to keep up. On the fifth night, however, he sat to rest and succumbed to a doze. 

He awoke to the almost imperceptible throaty sounds of the beast breathing a few yards behind him. Legolas did not need to look to know it was collected to spring, tail lashing with impatience. He gathered himself, but did not move until he heard the whoosh of its launch. The hunter had lost the element of surprise to the hunted.

Legolas dived onto his shoulder and rolled to his back, muscles straining, feet making contact with the beast's underbelly, using its momentum to carry it past him. It was a terrifying sight: black with bright silver stripes, jaws wide enough to easily encircle his throat, and paws huge above him with talons as long as his hand. The elf's powerful kick caused it to fall heavily in the dust, off balance. It gave a frustrated roar, the great jaws snapping shut.

Fast as an arrow, he grabbed a length of rope from his pack and threw himself on the tiger before it could right itself. It outweighed him by hundreds of pounds, but he was more nimble. They wrestled mightily, the cat trying to crush the elf beneath it, and the elf struggling to avoid the fangs and claws. 

Legolas was weaker than ever before. Wrapping the tiger in bonds while avoiding the hind legs that could gut him in one kick quickly sapped his remaining strength. He took a long slash to his side, feeling each of the claws rake his flesh, and he thrilled at the blinding pain, life coursing through him.

For a long time, they fought. Letting go was certain death. Every muscle screamed, and his skin was raw, but he held on.

He finally lay heaving for breath, inches from the beast's immobilized jaws. It had ceased thrashing now and lay still, panting, its tail free to lash the ground. Legolas scrambled to his feet and carefully walked a wide perimeter, searching for any sign of a mate. He could discern none. As he calmed, he realized that no mate would have endured that length of fight without intervening.

He returned and crouched by the animal, checking the rope. The great silver eyes watched him warily, looking for any opening to wrest free. Legolas began speaking to the beast as he examined it. It was young and fit, well-fed. It appeared to have led an easy life until recently. His brow wrinkled. The absence of cat-reek was telling.

"Mistress," he said respectfully, "your kind only hunts mine in famine, fear, or madness." The tiger glared at him, eyes flashing. "Of course, I think you have not eaten since you began following me, which is another worry." He unconsciously ran a hand along the fantastic pelt and back up, ruffling the fur the wrong way. The creature snarled through its bonds.

"My apologies." He placed a hand over his heart and bowed his head. "And for hurting you as well, though it was necessary." He felt of her ribs and belly, looking for injury. He could feel only the early formation of bruises. Legolas leaned closer and was drawn inexorably to touch the huge face, tracing the complex lines across satiny fur. 

He focused on the tiger's eyes, trying to make a connection. When at last he did, tenuous though it was, the quiet of the animal's mind surprised him. He had expected tumult, confusion, or pain. He felt only anger and sadness. And in the moment of connection, he understood why.

"Elves took your mate," he said. She blinked, then closed her eyes altogether. "Sad One," he soothed. "It was not I who did this. And I have never hunted for sport or pretty pelts." Again, he stroked the tiger's side, careful not to drag his fingers back. He felt from her that she now hated the striking fur that marked her. The very patterns that drew her kind to one another, distinguished family from tribe, had brought death to her mate. "You cannot help what you are, Mistress, and sometimes the world we live in is inexplicably cruel. Yavanna feared it would be thus."

He thought for long minutes. "Perhaps you are a gift of the Valar. Sent to end my suffering and ease your own." He loosened the elven rope about her jaws. "We share loss of the kind that makes going on seem pointless. And I would make a good meal for you, wasted though I may be." Her eyes opened again, a bit wider this time. "But though I could have let you kill me quickly -- and in your anger, you certainly could have -- I did not allow it. I must conclude that I wish to live. It is an unfamiliar sensation of late." 

A great tongue snaked out and licked his forearm, its roughness harsher than any farrier's rasp. The connection flared, and he knew the creature did not crave his blood.

Wetness spattered his hand, and he realized tears had been falling. He went to his pack and brought back a flask and waybread. "We shall risk this, you and I. Perhaps I have entirely left my senses. Perhaps not." He untied the rope, first unwrapping only her head. She rolled to her stomach more, struggling with the bonds that kept her from rising. 

"Shh," he said again, pouring water into his hand. "Let us break our latest fast together." As she licked the water from his skin, he drank from the flask, his first drink in a day. Again he poured, and again she took the water. He took a bite of lembas, and though he still did not taste it, he felt relief. "This is food for some hunters, but not all," he smiled at her, "try a little, for it will give you back your strength." She looked wary, but after he tossed her the first taste, she bolted the remainder. 

Legolas marveled at the length of her fangs, and for a moment, imagined them sinking into his neck as she bit down to stop his breath. He had watched enough kills to know the way of it. The exhausted part of him craved it, felt a moment of ecstasy. She looked at him quietly. He reached out and scratched her under the chin, as if she were one of his father's darlings and not a master predator. She began to purr, her eyes slitted at him.

He crawled around her then, releasing her from the elven rope, coiling it as he went. He bent to stow the rope in his pack, and the tiger leapt to her feet, shaking herself all over. She came straight to him as he half-crouched there, and for a moment, they were eye to eye. Her ears flicked, and he knew that he trembled, that he wanted to live yet had no love for doing so. She paced forward, forcing him back on his arms, and with a great paw on his chest, flattened him to the ground. With delicacy, she opened her mouth and grasped his throat in her jaws. 

Legolas froze. The animal's breath was not fetid. Its unusually fresh smell reminded him that her last kill must have been a week ago. She was deadly motionless, her saliva dripping on his skin and running off into the dust beneath them. Her fangs pressed just enough to hurt him without breaking the skin. He shuddered. It would be so easy.

"No," Legolas said at last, reaching out to her mind, hoping she could still understand him. "I do not wish it." His hands slid up across the massive shoulders, and she released him. 

They looked at one another for several minutes, and then she butted him with her great head, nuzzled him in the crook of his neck, her snuffling wet nose making him laugh for the first time in many weeks. The sound rang out strange in their isolation, but her eyes were bright in response. 

With a feline grumble, she settled onto her side, stretching out next to him. He lay back against her hard ribs, trying for several minutes to get comfortable. He felt something like a chuckle issue from her. Finally, he swung an arm and leg over her, draping himself along her length, his weight nothing as her breath lifted and settled him. The soft, longer fur of her stomach was warm in the chill air and he coiled his hand in it, needing no blanket. She purred again, and he could feel the creature's contentment deep in his bones.

In this manner, the exhausted hunters slept under the moon and were not disturbed by dreams.  
*******

The sun did not show until mid-afternoon, for the day was cloudy. Legolas awoke, disoriented, and found himself alone. Only his numerous scratches and the spoor of the tiger's huge feet assured him that he had not imagined the encounter.

He looked to the nearest fringe of forest in the distance and hoped she was headed home. He stared a long time, wondering if he should return to the trees himself. He realized that the absence of their constant lament of sympathy was a relief. He thought he had left all his loved ones behind, yet he had clung to his beloved trees. Without their coaxing, loving voices trying to force him back to health, he could begin to see a path.

"Clarity." he said aloud in realization, marveling at its return.

For the first time since he had left Minas Tirith, he knew where he would go, and he turned toward the mountains.  
*******

Surrounded by the dark, sharp green of the high pine glade, Legolas could see his breath. Here, there was no snow, but it was cold, and the needles under his feet crunched more loudly than usual.

When he was certain of the place, he spoke ancient words aloud, chanting them for what felt like hours. He was patient. At last, darkness gathered in the air before him, and a tall shadow loomed, thick and swirling with fog.

Legolas fell to his knees. "Master."

"Novice." The voice in his head held some surprise. "What brings you unannounced to my earthly lair?"

There was no need to do anything but come to the point. Legolas' long-unused voice quivered in the chill air. "I wish you to break me, Master, to sever my corporeal bonds." 

Again, the voice was surprised. "You, of all, would ask this of me? The path of sun and moon?" 

"Yes."

"Without hesitation?"

"I come for no other purpose." Legolas shuddered with the want of it. The needles of trees surrounding them protested, shivering in warning.

"You are such a passionate soul, Greenleaf, that even in my worst depth of greed, I would not wish it." 

"I do," Legolas hissed, "I do. Many miles brought me here with much deliberation. At last, I know what I need to do. So I have come before you, Master, after these long years apart."

A tendril, like damp smoke, trailed out and touched his face. "It is grief that sunders you?"

"Does it matter what the cause may be?"

"Of course the intent of the thing matters. Could you think otherwise?"

"You did not ask for intent, but cause."

"And you have not answered me in either."

Legolas bowed his head. "Both are as they should be. Sunder my body from my spirit. I always did what you bade me, now, I ask only this of you." 

"I taught you ever with care. I do not wish to harm you."

"I want your harm, Master. It is necessary. I must know whether I am destroyed in my soul."

"You are ever of strength."

"Not so, any longer. I am of lust and love undone, my Lord. I ask that you take me outside these confines. Please," Legolas whispered. "If I then wish to return to this world, to this form, I will know that I can go on."

The being pondered the pain of this request. "As you are not given to melodrama, Novice, your present demeanor is unsettling." The shadow hung in silence for a few minutes. "I have palaces of ice, dungeons of fire. You know these too well. I would have to devise something altogether different." Legolas waited. Finally, the shadow moved. "First, you must explain all to me, with your own words, or I will not do what you wish."

Legolas nodded and drew together what felt like his last strength. "Each day, I make a choice anew. A choice not to sail to Valinor."

"A love has gone there."

"Many, yes. One in particular. A mortal."

"The Ring-bearer."

Surprise lit Legolas' tired face. "Yes."

"And you did not go with him in favor of remaining with another."

Legolas struggled with this. "It was not that simple, Lord."

"Ah, a complication. You must detail this, that I may better understand the nuance of your despair."

"Frodo read my heart, as always. He forbade me. If I did not give my word that I would stay until Aragorn and Arwen left this land, he would put me aside for his time in Arda. Of course, I told him that I would forego his time here to have the rest of his life instead." Legolas swallowed heavily. "Then, he said, it might be the same thing, that he might not live long one way or the other."

"He is wise," said the shadow.

"No, he is selfless, too selfless."

"I think perhaps not."

"Further, he insisted that if I follow him while Aragorn still lives, he will turn me away."

"Do you believe that he would do so, or that he was testing you?"

"He would not test me, he knows me to be true."

"Is he strong enough to turn you away, if you came to him now? If he lives."

Pain flashed deeply through Legolas at the thought that Frodo might already have died. "I do not know, my Lord, he did everything to which he ever set his mind, save throw the Ring in the fires himself. Yet, I cannot imagine he could withstand to reject my love for all the years ahead." For a moment he allowed the memory of Frodo touching him to intrude, and his eyes filled.

"Archer," the shadow said sharply, regaining Legolas' focus, "but for his command, would you have gone with him?"

"Yes."

"Without hesitation, without conflict?"

"No," Legolas said at last, his voice breaking.

"The King holds your heart as well. Part of the complication. And the Queen."

"How do you know these things?" Legolas whispered. "I speak of them to none but Gimli."

"Of late, Gimli confers with one of the Earth Lords on your behalf. She knows my interest."

"Gimli," Legolas whispered, feeling a pang of remorse at his flight. 

"True to Gimli's nature, he comforts Arod, yet will not allow any help for himself. You have hurt him by leaving in secret, for he would do anything to help you, even to remain behind had you asked." Legolas wept openly at that. "Never mind, Novice, he will mend. Unless you kill yourself. Then, I cannot say he will survive it. Go on and tell me the rest."

"I have lost all true pleasure since Frodo left. I saw Aragorn upon my return to Minas Tirith. He was all kindness and love. I could see in his eyes his gladness at my choice, his desire to touch me, and with that, all I felt in looking on him was pain."

"But you love him."

"Yes."

"And Arwen?"

"She alone understands the impossibility of choosing, yet she made her irrevocable choice long ago and cannot, as I do, make it anew each day. I felt some ease as she held me and sang to me, but it did not last."

"Mortality. There is not time for everything. How sad."

"This is not what Frodo intended. He did not think of it, but I will be forced to decide each day when I rise. To risk losing many of those I love on the chance that Frodo lives and that he will not turn me away. Or to stay here and lose him to mortality and never know when. I am compelled to both ends. It is a torture that I cannot stop."

"Not with meditation?"

"I have tried."

"Not with hard living either, as I can see. You have already harmed yourself."

"Nothing I have not withstood a thousand times."

"But for a cause before, not for itself." The shadow moved to surround him, to feel his wounds and know his hunger and thirst. After a moment, it spoke in anger. "You must drink."

"I have not gone without water, Master."

"Nearly. Would you come to me so weak as to make a mockery of my strength?" The booming voice echoed in the still air. Water appeared sparkling before Legolas, in no vessel, yet held together in a column. "Drink." 

There was no question. His body wanted to live, and he drank. But he wept through it. 

The shadow quivered in frustration. "You will leak out what little you take in!"

"I am not here for you to nurse to health," Legolas said fiercely.

"In truth, I owe you nothing, Elf. Why should I do this thing that you ask when it takes from me deeply to do so?"

"Because you love me." Legolas replied, simply.

There was silence, then a sigh. "You know that I do. The years are not long for immortals of your kind or mine, are they?"

"Each day is eternity for me now, Master. If I do not find my way through it, I shall waste away and die, losing everything."

"Have you not had enough pain?" The strong voice trembled with emotion. 

"Yes. And no. There is method to what I ask."

"I await it."

"If you break me from my body and set me to the path, I might go to him over the miles across which no letters come, no messengers fly. Only you may do this."

"I see. You might not find your way back."

"Then that will be our answer, will it not?"

The shadow mourned then, rain falling on the grass beneath it. "I will not like to look upon your shell while I wait and wonder whether you will come back to it."

"Even so, I know that your shadow will not leave it while I am gone. You will keep it safe once you have severed me from it." 

"It will be safe. My cave is impregnable, as you know, except to those I welcome. No one is here now: we are alone."

Legolas rose. "Let us go." He found that he still knew the way. It was not a short walk, as the hidden cave went deep in the hills.

The grottos inside were warm from hot springs running underneath the rocks. The great voice bounced through the chambers. "I have kept your place ready, though many other pupils have come and gone."

Despite himself, Legolas smiled. "I had many teachers, but you were always my favorite. Father knows me so well. He always has."

"I did not fear to challenge you. I knew your limits like my own."

The spare chamber to which they went was empty but for a few objects, and Legolas' heart lurched at the sight of them. The mithril incense burner gleamed nearby, and he remembered his mother's smile at his delighted receipt of it, he heard the echo of her long-ago laughter. He had still been an elfling when she departed West. A small coffer had been his siblings' gift upon his coming of age. The incense within it would still be fresh and would smell painfully reminiscent of home, of loved ones divided now between Arda and Valinor. 

A bloodstained cloak hung on the wall where he had left it. Candles sat in their holders half-burned. A small pallet had been laid fresh with grasses and a bright silk and wool blanket, and there was no dust anywhere.

"You knew I would come?"

"When the Earth Lord spoke, I thought you might. It is well that Gimli knew of your training."

Legolas dropped the items he carried and lit the incense himself for the calming act of doing so. The candles lit of their own accord at the shadow's mere presence.

"Wish you to rest first?" The caress on his face returned, the voice willing him to desire sleep.

"Nay," he told the shadow, shaking off the temptation of the voice. "I cannot wait any longer."

There was a pause, then resignation. "You are already purified, having eaten and drunk little for so many weeks. Go and bathe yourself in the cedar pool. I will prepare."

A time later, Legolas returned, naked, his hair wet, skin steaming. The shadow was silent as it watched him. 

The low voice thrummed when it spoke. "You have taken many hurts these years, Novice. I am glad you survived, however much you may wish it otherwise at the moment." The form enveloped him again, and when it moved off, he was dry.

Legolas retrieved one of his knives from where it lay with his clothing and swiftly made a vertical cut, shallow but bloody, from his throat to his navel. "If I wished myself dead, Spirit of Air, I would be. I do not come here hoping to be killed. Not yet."

"But you may be. You have weakened yourself unduly. Do not try to deceive me that you intended purification throughout: that was a thought of the past week only. And you ask me for no mercy if you dare me to set you loose from your body." It watched with growing ardor as blood oozed down and dripped over Legolas' belly and loins to the floor. 

Already lightheaded, Legolas felt the fairly minor loss of blood acutely. The wound buzzed, giving him a feeling close to pleasure. "You have severed such ties before." Legolas extended his left arm, underside out, and slashed once down its length.

"But not in you," the shadow answered, "And not in any I have loved." 

Legolas repeated the same cut in his right arm, ignoring the burn in the left arm as he bent it to use the knife. Red welled and dripped all around him, and he began to feel warm and languid. His shaft swelled a little in response to even that small pleasure, taking yet more of his blood. He knelt to slash first one thigh, then the other. "I will understand, Master, if you decline." 

The hair lifted from his neck, and he felt the silky brush of shadow there, causing a stronger swelling in his loins. 

"I will trust my power and your strength, Elf, and do this that you ask of me. If it may give you ease for a time, release you from this pain I feel in you, it is worth the risk." A wistful note crept into the voice. "There are other things I would rather do, and almost certainly will be driven to do if you return. I sense that you have no capacity for them now, though your body cries out to me with your neglect of it."

"It is only that I grew undisciplined and overly accustomed to such attention," Legolas scoffed.

The shadow sighed and did not answer him. "Lie down, for I must bind your hands and feet. The spell will be stronger than before and I will not see you rend your own flesh."

Legolas complied, watching the elven rope, whisper soft, grow bloodied as it twined itself about him so that his arms were held close by his sides. The air sighed all around him, running over his body in little gusts, comforting him. He closed his eyes and began the ritual breath.

"Before the end, what you ask of me may hurt more than the pain for which you seek relief." The voice seemed farther away.

Without looking, Legolas knew that glowing dust from deep in the caves now swirled above him, as if waiting. "I am prepared, Master." 

"Then come to me."

With the skill of long practice, Legolas stilled his body and mind, pulling his breath back to near nothing. A few times he faltered, as thoughts of Frodo came unbidden. He lay with them, with the hurt of them, until they faded and his clarity returned. As it did, he felt a strong breeze and the dust fell weightless on his open wounds, settling in his blood. He tingled and burned as the spell entered him, then spread its power through his whole body, causing a wild ecstasy in which he felt his flesh might lift from him of its own accord. 

Then, pain flooded him deep to his bones, and he writhed in silence for a long time until at last the spell took him beyond it. Soon after, his breath moved so slowly as to be imperceptible.

He felt himself detach and opened his eyes to a different world. 

A great, dark Maia sat before him, cross-legged, with pelted skin as black as jet and eyes of sparkling ice. Fog swirled about them, shrouding all but the mountain peak above. They were near the summit, yet Legolas felt no cold.

"Master."

"It is truly good to see you again, my novice." They embraced, and Legolas rested for a brief moment of peace against the sleek hide. A rumble sounded deep in the creature's chest. "I would protect you, perhaps to my own destruction, but I cannot protect you from yourself."

Legolas drew back and laid a hand on the fearsome, chiseled face, dragging his thumb against the tip of an exposed fang. "Sharp as ever," he said with a wan smile. He had drawn a little blood of himself, and the Maia licked it away softly.

"Do not tempt me, Elf, when you have in mind other things entirely." He looked him over carefully. Where the slashes were in his real body, in this form, there were brightly glowing lines. "Good, the spell has settled well, stopping the bleeding. My shadow will moisten your breath so you do not die of thirst while you are here."

The Maia grasped the lovely face before him in two huge, clawed hands and searched the sorrowful eyes. He looked for a long time.

At length, he spoke. "Ah! I understand better now. You have been fully unlocked by this creature who haunts your heart. My ever-guarded one has been unbound, and I envy the power of the one who accomplished this." 

Legolas could feel the tears flowing and made no move to check them.

Their mirror then fell frozen from the creature's face, pattering to the snow. "He opened you again to everything to which the war shut you. With him, you came to understand the truth about what Talas tried to do to you. For all your work with me, you did not put the pieces together until then. And after, you loved the world once more, and those you already loved, more deeply." 

"Yes. But I cannot feel that love now, Master. I am numb to it. I want no one near me."

The Maia nuzzled Legolas' hair as if he had not heard him. "You crave this one, this Frodo. I smell the want on you. It is a pity that a mortal cannot withstand my presence without harm. I prefer to take on pupils from whom I also have something to learn. This creature would be interesting."

Legolas laughed then, a little bitterly. "Frodo has much to teach and is always eager to learn, but he is no ascetic. He would not be here cold and fasting for long. Not after what he has already endured."

"The creature comforts call him, eh?" The Maia huffed his breath in amusement. "And those of the body, which is how he first reached you. But you have had compelling lovers before. You still do, this King of yours, for one. No, it is the openness of Frodo's heart that has taken you. It matches your own when you allow it." He blew a warming breath on Legolas.

Legolas inhaled sharply at the scent in sudden recognition. "You sent the tiger! I should have known your breath on her."

"The beast came to you of her own choice. I feared for you, actually, as she is fierce even beyond her kind. It was a test for her. A turning point for both." 

Legolas closed his eyes and breathed in again, relishing the sharp purity of the air surrounding the Maia. He realized that he was beginning to enjoy the encounter, delaying his purpose, and he opened his eyes. "Shall we begin?" he prompted.

"Yes," sighed the Lord of Air, "Though it is my hope that you will rediscover, Novice, that it is not a weakness to enjoy the world through your body, it is a mystery to be revered. You are not an ethereal creature by nature." The claws tapped together. "As we have talked, I have been trying to decide what method to employ. At last, I have the answer, and have called my brothers, though I remain reluctant." Legolas waited. "Once I do this, another thing that you do not yet know will pull at you until you answer it. It is adding a burden to ease another."

"If there is a chance I may go to him, there is no choice."

"You will go where your heart takes you if you are strong enough, even if he has died, and from that you will not return. If we succeed, there will be oblivion when you become aware again. Do not confuse this with death. You must cross it and find the correct passage. Your elven sight will not help you. You may encounter others, and some will not let you pass lightly."

"I understand."

"And if he is living, you will reach him only in the ethereal world. Further than that, I cannot help you pass, for your body remains in my grotto." The Maia bent to kiss Legolas with gentle lips, careful not to tear him with its fangs. "Remember that although you have no real body here, only the illusion, your mind and soul may be injured beyond repair by what occurs." Then, it swept him into the air, and with terrifying speed, passed over the mountain range. 

The fog parted, and Legolas felt a shock like nothing in his life before. An expanse of sea passed beneath them, glittering bright in the eerie light of the realm. His eyes saw silver and green and blue, thousands of shades of blue, all at once. The scent of it filled him, rich and organic, the tears and sweat and blood of the earth and sky together. His mind knew what it was though he had never seen it before. The sight, smell, and sound made his spirit swoon.

"I would have been happy to come here gently with you, to show you this in pleasure, had you allowed it." The Maia's voice was soft and sad, reverberating in Legolas' belly. "And I ask your forgiveness for what I do next, though I do it at your request, for even you do not know what you have asked."

Somehow, Legolas found his last voice. "There is nothing to forgive. You have my love and respect, Master. I thank you for everything you have given to me, most of all, that which it now pains you to give. Please. Do what is necessary." 

For a moment, he was gripped tightly against the huge body, and then he was falling free. The mass of water rushed at him from far beneath his feet, and he felt such ecstasy that he lost all thought of fear. 

The Water Lords reached for him, their green and blue arms stretching out, and he had a slow moment of time to feel the force of the water hitting him, the salt burn collapsing his lungs, the tumult of waves pulling him apart. Then there was nothing but pain, no air, nothing to breathe but water, and he knew with wonder that he was drowning. Then, all was white.  
*******

He awoke to cloying darkness and a feeling of weightlessness. At first he was still in the terror throes of drowning, but he had no sound, no breath, no heartbeat. The fear went on and on until he realized that his state was unchanging, he was not dying, and he began to calm. He had found oblivion. 

Here, he existed only as intention. He had no sense of pain or physical form. It was difficult, even for him, not to panic. The complete loss of body, senses, even the illusion of those things, was terrible. Time meant nothing.

Legolas floated, conscious of others near, not in a physical manner, but intruding on the edges of his thoughts. Some were angry. Some had gone mad. One of these seemed to be gnawing on his mind, sapping his focus. He ignored them. 

He did then what he had avoided doing almost every day since Frodo had left. He thought only of him. First, he allowed for the emotions: the sensation of his heart bursting with love, the howling laughter that spent all breath, the agony of loss that hollowed his gut. 

Then, he let in the sensual things: the taste of sweaty skin, hungry lips brushing his, luxurious curls yielding under his fingers, the smell of moonflower in his nostrils. These memories were strong. Only a measure of weeks had passed after all.

Legolas allowed the elements to combine, allowed himself to feel the rush of emotion and touch together. Suddenly his thoughts sang, "Alive!" The realization came with absolute surety, stunning him, and he would have shouted in joy had he a voice to do so. Some of the darkness around him changed to deep blue, and he willed himself toward it.  
*******

It was Bag End, yet it was not. The walls shimmered, the colors were brighter. He looked at his hands, and they were his hands, yet not. He seemed glorified with an aura of light around him. 

"Legolas!" 

He whirled at the voice. "Frodo!" he answered, falling to his knees and receiving the hobbit to his heart. They kissed ravenously and long. He thought he might actually consume his lover, lost in the feel of those lips sliding over and under his own.

Finally, Frodo put his hands to Legolas' face and held him away but a few inches. "How is it that are you here? I have painted this fancy in dreams hundreds of times, brought you to my mind. But it was never like this." He searched the now-blue eyes. "This is you. Truly you."

"Yes, but I know not how long I may remain." He found himself peppered with kisses, and he leaned into them eagerly as he laughed from the heart. "Where are we?"

"I was daydreaming in my library. Not sleeping, but thinking of you. I am awake though my eyes are closed." Frodo was mischievous, "Fortunately, I bolted the door and left instructions I should not be disturbed."

Legolas caught his own reflection in the mirror across the room and gasped. The elf that he saw was radiant, lit from within, himself and yet not. Realization struck him. "I am at this moment how you see me."

"You are yourself."

"No, I am not so beautiful." Then he turned back from the mirror and observed Frodo. "And you see yourself as less lovely than you are." He looked carefully, and pulled aside Frodo's shirt. "But you are healing!" he exclaimed, joyous. "The old stain of the Morgul blade is fading." Frodo stopped him speaking with hungry lips, pressing himself close.

With swift movements, they were naked and rolling together on the rug, frantic in their lust. Legolas employed no art, only passion, refusing to part from Frodo's lips as his hands roamed. He then sought between the hobbit's legs, grasping him relentlessly and relishing the long shudders of pleasure that swiftly followed. 

Legolas slid his lips away but a moment. "Again," he said huskily, and pulled the firm body closer while his tongue stroked against Frodo's.

"Mmm!" Frodo murmured sharply in an attempt to use his voice so that Legolas would pull back a little and let him speak. It worked, and he gasped out the words, "Inside me. I want you inside me," as he rolled on top, pressing the elf back on the rug.

For once, Legolas did not protest, did not fear for his lover's pain. Even had Legolas not been slick himself with growing pleasure, Frodo was busy using his own spent fluid to ease the way. His apparent rapture while impaling himself was almost too much to bear already, but nothing in the three worlds he had traveled this day could have made Legolas close his eyes to it.

"Frodo," was all Legolas could say, a piercingly sweet word to his own ears.

"Take me fast," was the only answer. Legolas did, thrusting up hard, bracing Frodo with a hand on his chest and another on his shaft, the skin beneath his fingers glossy with sweat. In the absolute privacy of this secret world, Frodo was loud in his pleasure and tossed his head with abandon. 

Legolas felt the tips of his ears tingle as his head grew light. The control he so often used to enhance love was gone in the heat of Frodo's body and the force of their union. He peaked quickly, singing aloud, distantly aware of the hot spill on his stomach as Frodo answered him, falling forward on the broad, white chest.

They grasped each other hard, clinging and desperate for as much contact as possible, tears mingling with sweat and other fluids.

Legolas panted, "I will follow you. Frodo, if I survive this journey back, I will take the next ship."

"No, you will not. I forbid it."

"Do you not want me? I cannot be with you this way again. That I am here at all is by the Valar's grace and the help of a friend which can be given only once."

"And doubtless by your courage. To answer you, yes, you know that I want you, every hour of every passing day. That is not in question."

"I could defy you. I do not believe you would turn me aside were my body before you," Legolas whispered fiercely, moving again so that Frodo would feel him still hard, deep inside, "I would be relentless in my pursuit."

"Know that I would, Legolas, that I am strong enough." Frodo's eyes were both smiling and sad.

"Why? Why would you do this?" His brows gathered in their intensity of frustration.

"The reasons are too many, my silver one, and some are best unspoken until later." He stroked Legolas' chest. "But I will give you what I may. You and Gimli have great work to do together for our people and our friends. I could not stay to help rebuild, but you can. Only you have any hope of comforting Arwen when Aragorn dies. I think even you will not be able to save her, but I must know that we tried. And, Legolas, you and Aragorn must see your love through to his end. It is important to me. You are not the only one with a conscience."

"You have my heart as well. I cannot be in both places. This has what has brought me to you through great peril and pain: to decide where to be."

"I promise you that if there is a way to do so, I will live long enough to see you again, and to enjoy years with you that we have not yet had. I believe that is possible here. It is not possible for those mortals who remain in Middle Earth."

"Aragorn will have the lifespan of his heritage, and that would make you an aged hobbit indeed when next I see you." Legolas smiled in spite of the clenching in his chest.

"If I do live, I will still tumble you to the ground, Elf," Frodo grinned, "I take a great deal of exercise now that I may. But I will have it so, even if I do not live to see you beyond this moment." He sobered as he debated the next thought. "There is another thing altogether that I may not tell you now. But you must trust me when I ask you to remain yet a time in Middle Earth."

"How do you know this?"

"Gandalf. That is all I will say."

"Was it this knowledge that caused you to command me to remain behind?"

"I had but a hint. But it matters to me most now when I ask you not to come to me yet. It matters even more than the rest of what I have said."

Legolas considered. "I promise I will do as you have asked. But trust me enough in that promise to tell me why. Why must what you want always wait?"

"Some things are well worth waiting for. You are worth waiting for." Frodo closed his eyes. "And your daughter is worth the wait." 

The shock made all surroundings fade for a moment. Then, Legolas calmed himself and Frodo came back into focus. "This cannot be."

"I cannot tell you more. Speaking of things an Istari foresees is dangerous. I have said enough already for Gandalf to pace the floor for days worrying about how to repair the damage."

"Then the Istari should not have spoken of such things and parted you from me," said Legolas.

Frodo caressed the white cheek, feeling how sharp the bones seemed underneath. "I miss your face so! Now that you are truly here, I can see how you have changed. You are too thin, not eating enough. Do you miss hobbit fare?" He spoke lightly but his eyes were deeply worried.

Legolas chuckled at last, "In more than one way."

Frodo remained serious. "You have new scars, Legolas, in a time of peace. Is all well with our friends?"

"They are well. My wounds are of not of war." His eyes were unguarded, and Frodo understood. 

"You must heal yourself and stay well."

"Now, I may. For a time, I could not," Legolas considered whether to utter the next words, "I have been in such pain since you left that I could enjoy nothing."

His eyes bright with tears, Frodo kissed him. "I think that curse has ended, my love. Live again, as you taught me to do, fully and with joy. I have a wonderful life, as I will show you presently. Every day you are missed, and every night I hold you close in dreams. I will bear it until we are together again, even if a century passes." His lashes fluttered down and then up again. "So far, there is no one else, but in time, there may be, as you have asked. It will not mean I love you less." He grinned, "I would keep my skills sharpened for you."

Legolas laughed and embraced Frodo, rolling until the hearty body lay beneath his light one. "My kind will not be able to resist you. Already, we know this. You have a piece of Arwen's heart as well. And you have gone without loving for too long already, as I could feel today."

"You have not touched another in desire since I left, have you!" There was no question, but both reproach and delight in Frodo's voice. He already knew the answer. "Then, in this, we are equal. Promise me that you will return to Minas Tirith, and I promise you that by the time you are enfolded again in Aragorn's arms, I will find comfort myself." 

Legolas looked in wonder him. "I pledge it, Frodo. Though I may have another debt first, to a Lord of Air. It remains to be seen what he will ask of me."

"Ah, your teacher. He must have been distraught to do what you asked."

"I convinced him."

Frodo studied the long, silvery marks, tracing them with such tenderness that Legolas quivered. "But these, these were made by your own hand."

"Yes, my love," came the simple answer. 

"Would that there had been another way," Frodo sighed. "Thank him as you must, Legolas, as long as your life is spared. Thank him for me as well, for my heart overflows."

Again, they embraced, more languidly, and as Frodo moved in him and around him, their boundaries blurring, Legolas was reminded of his lover's power. The force of his body's response and the song that poured forth as he joined Frodo's release brought him to tears. 

Afterward, Frodo unbraided Legolas' hair and ran his fingers through it, over and over, inhaling the fragrance. "Let me show you my home, my life here, if there is a little time."

Exhaustion was hard upon Legolas now. "Time grows short, Frodo, but I would see whatever I can before I must go."

They rose together. "I think there is no point in dressing," Frodo said. He hesitated. "But I am afraid that when I shift what I see, to a place where we have not been together, you will be gone."

"I think I will be able to stay. Hold my hand." 

Legolas found himself in a library, hobbit-sized but for the high ceiling. It had shelves of books and scrolls, a lovely writing desk with quills aplenty and a drawer of colored inks, Frodo's chair, a deep couch, everything a scholarly hobbit could want. The large window overlooked a breathtaking vista: the harbor full of ships sparkling in afternoon sun. Again, Legolas felt the sea's call deep within.

"Gandalf had this home built for us. It is part hobbit hole and part elven mansion. There are rooms enough for whomever of us follow. Sam will, I hope, someday. The Ring touched him and he will outlive his loves as well. And you, at last, will come to me. We have built you a room, though I would want you to share mine."

Legolas kissed him for a long minute, then whispered, "Show me." 

"Your room, mine, and Sam's all overlook the garden." The garden proved to be massive, parts in sun, parts overhung by willows, suggesting good water beneath. "I have not Sam's skill, but I try, and I have eager help." The cascades of flowers and herbs exploded with color and myriad shades of green. 

Legolas noticed that the small fountain, tucked in the close corner by the window, bore two male figures bathing in a waterfall, a hobbit and an elf. He smiled.

"Gandalf prefers closer quarters, he says if he wants to look at the garden, he can walk in it. I think it's an old habit. Windows allow others to spy on a wizard's work." Frodo seemed pleased with himself.

Again, Legolas laughed, his heart growing ever lighter. "You are perceptive, my love."

"How else could I have bound you to me with your refined sensibilities."

"I am base enough, at times." Legolas' eyes glittered with mixed emotions.

"I would have you no other way than you are." Frodo frowned a little. "I know it troubles you, your capacity for desire. But it is one of the qualities I love about you." His hand slid around the slim waist to play in the cleft of muscled buttocks. "You did not seduce me, Legolas, I was no innocent to be corrupted. Remember, that although you warned me and refused me, I came to you and nearly took you in your sleep." He leaned forward and gently bit Legolas' chin before speaking further. "You gave me more pleasure and love of your heart in three years than most dream of in a lifetime. I would trade it for nothing. I know that you feel the same."

Legolas closed his eyes in relief. "You read my letters?" 

"Every day since I set foot on these shores and unpacked my bags." He reached for the small knife on his table, and made the tiniest of cuts in the inner part of Legolas' left wrist, then, in his own right wrist. "Where they touch when our hands are entwined," he explained. He dipped the quill in purple ink and drew it through the cuts on both of them, staining the underflesh. "We shall see whether we may bear the marks of this meeting back with us to our bodies."

"It is a sweet idea, but unlikely, we are ethereal here, not corporeal."

"But my love is so strong that I bear the marks of it in both." He instinctively lowered his voice though none but Legolas was near. "Lying in that other library, the real one, I felt your cock in me as though it were real, and I am wet with our pleasures."

Legolas gasped at the effect of the words on him. He knew time was on them and he struggled past the renewed heat for a plan. "Find one who can speak with the Maiar. Give my seal, which you already have, and ask to send a message. We may do this perhaps once each year. There will be tasks in payment, tending of the elements in some way. I have favor with air and now water, Gimli with earth."

"There is no need, my love, I should have thought of it before. Gandalf will do it himself when he is about, he tends the flame."

Legolas had not thought of this either, and he brightened. "Yes, of course."

Frodo placed some fruit and cheese on a plate and poured water from a pitcher. "Drink this and eat a little, Legolas. Although it is the stuff of dreams, it may help your strength for the journey home." 

He obeyed, actually tasting the fare he ate for the first time in months. Despite the delight of his senses in the simple food, he ate sparingly so as not to break his fast hard. His eyes never left Frodo.

"You are taller!" he exclaimed at last. "I did not note it before. Is it so, or but part of your daydream?"

"I truly am taller by a hand and a half. Gandalf hatched a plan and gave me ent-draught every day of our crossing. He thinks it will help me live longer and younger. And I grew a little." His eyes sparkled, "Now, I am a wee bit like the trees you love so, I hope you do not mind."

"I love you as always. Though I would change nothing about you, we cannot hold the world still, and I would love you in all possible transformations."

Frodo then led Legolas to his bed, a far larger bed than a hobbit would ever need alone. He spoke soothingly. "Lie back and close your eyes now, my love. Sleep. I will hold you." As he spoke, he caressed the elf's naked chest, wishing they were not so spent. His hand slid lower, and he stroked Legolas intimately, enjoying the satiny textures beneath his fingers even without hardness.

"Legolas," Frodo murmured as his touch stirred the elf again, "I would have you thrice for joy of our favored pattern. But I will not endanger you further. When you next awake, if you are able, think of me and spend yourself with my name on your lips. Say that you will."

"I will."

"I am certain that I will feel it," Frodo groaned.

"I do not wish to part with you again," Legolas sighed, barely able to keep his eyes open. "It rips me apart anew. But this time, I promise to let you go without tears."

"That is well, for I would remember your smile most of all, your happiness and laughter. The image of you curled in our bed, weeping, has pained me for months. But you are not letting me go, only leaving me for a little while of your time." 

Their eyes were full, but they smiled. "I love you, Frodo Baggins," Legolas whispered, closing his eyes at last, unable to resist.

"And I love you." Frodo replied, wrapping himself around the elf. "Forever," he whispered.

It was not long before Legolas slipped away, leaving Frodo holding only the form of daydreams.  
*******

Legolas awoke to the crashing sound of waves. He kept his eyes closed and took account of his body first. He was battered and aching, but able to move. 

His lungs burned from the salt he had taken into them so deeply, but he was breathing and he could once again hear his heartbeat. Slowly, he opened his eyes. A vast beach of black sand sparkled before him in the morning light. 

He looked at himself carefully -- white skin crusted with obsidian sand and wrapped in seaweed. Gingerly, he brushed away those coverings to see purpling and greening bruises all over his body. He felt of his ribs, at least two were cracked, none broken. He lay back, weakly, and looked at the cloudless sky.

When his head had cleared a little, he raised his left arm and looked at the inner wrist. The little purple mark Frodo had made was there. He wept in happiness. 

Tears still flowing, he felt the soft command of Frodo's voice as if a spell had been set. Instantly, his body responded, need pounding through him again as if the weeks of starvation had but stored his power. With the sound of the sea thundering in his ears, he grasped himself with both hands and brought release fiercely, crying his chant of Frodo's name into the surf to mingle with the gulls' voices.  
*******

He was vaguely aware of being lifted. Then, he retreated to sleep again.

When he awoke, he smelled the fragrant smoke of a fire, rife with sandalwood, myrrh, and juniper. He sighed from far away. "Master, you awaken me."

The rich chuckle brought him closer to awareness. "Would that such power were truly mine, Greenleaf. I have instead lost you to a creature with hairy feet."

"But he has lost me in the end, and I him."

"Beautiful One, this is not the end. Nothing is lost. Awake, and live."

Something else stirred then in Legolas, something Frodo had nurtured back to life. He surged awake with a gasp. His head was clear in a moment. The Lord of Air stood before him, back turned as he gazed upon his mountain realm. The massive head turned.

"Ah, you are truly returned." He came to the bed and swiftly knelt. "You were gone too long. I worried."

"You succeeded mightily, my teacher," Legolas replied, every bone aching.

"You found him." The fangs gleamed in the sunlight. Legolas silently extended his wrist, showing the mark. "Ah, such is rare. I wished it would be thus for you but did not dare to hope."

"I..."

"Sleep again, my novice, you are not ready for thought or talk." The great lord commanded, and despite his elation, Legolas slept.  
*******

When Legolas became aware again, he was fully himself. He looked around, and saw that the Lord of Air slept on his side but an arms length away in the bed, his broad, muscled back an imposing sight.

Legolas realized, for the first time, how much this journey had cost him. He craved a bath, a meal, and a long drink of water, all at once. Hearing such thoughts, the Maia roused and rolled over, grinning at him. "Welcome back, Prince," he said, "First, tend your mind's wants here. You must do so again in Arda, for your body, with real food and real touch."

Legolas relished bathing in the hot spring with herbs, sighing in pleasure as the Maia combed his clean hair for him with long claws. He ate and drank well, only prudence and experience preventing foundering. 

After some hours, he stood at the mouth of the cave, beholding the snow, breathing deeply and feeling mighty.

He had no sense of time. At last, the subject was raised for him. "You have been here two of your weeks. It is time for you to go home. I do not think your shell will last much longer, though it is healed from ordinary wounds. Miravin grows impatient guarding you." 

Legolas did not need to ask. He grinned broadly. "She is another pupil." 

"Do not be smug," The Maia replied, suppressing a smile. "It does not become you."

Legolas knelt as he had been trained long ago. "Master, what is your price for these gifts I have received of you? I will do whatever you bid."

"How would Frodo feel about such an offer?"

"He understands who you are and what you have given. He knows that thanks must be made."

"Aragorn?"

"He is duty personified. He would not deny it."

The laugh was raucous and wistful at once. "I will not take your mere duty or obedience, Pupil."

Legolas swallowed, closed his eyes, and considered himself. "Then take the heat of my restoration, Master, I would otherwise give it only to the wilds."

At this, the Maia growled deep in its chest. "Do not tease me, Greenleaf. I have been restrained. I have not pressed you for anything and have done what you asked only out of love."

The elf's spirit rose, standing tall in the sunrise, hair waving in the wind, the colors of morning glinting off his skin and reflecting in his eyes. "I will share my loves with you, Master, that you may know their hearts as well as mine. You crave this."

The Maia recoiled. "It is dangerous. Different from the play we have shared in the past."

"I am confident," said Legolas. "You have made me so. It is a gift worthy of what you have taught me."

There was a pause while stony resolve gave way, and then, he found himself swept up, pressed to the unyielding body, icy fangs plunging deep into his chest over his heart. The Maia drank, each draught tightening the elf's loins. 

After twenty pulls at the essence of his heart, Legolas was coming, singing to the wind. The Lord of Air drank still, his claws puncturing thigh and shoulder in his fervor. Legolas bled again, and did not care in his prolonged pleasure. The Maia moaned, enthralled with the love on which it fed. At last, he bellowed out in his own pleasure, too full of feeling to contain any more of the bounty Legolas had to give. 

A time later, Legolas stirred to the sensation of his new wounds being lapped with a smooth tongue, and then the Maia breathed into his mouth, healing the punctures at once.

"Umm." He opened his eyes. The cold gaze glittered back at him, only a grin that would have terrified a Ringwraith indicating the Maia's appreciation.

"You are ever a wonder, Novice. I think I may call you that no more."

"Apprentice, then?" Legolas was delighted, and the forgotten feeling itself jolted him to greater delight.

"Nay, you are a Master already." A huge hand caressed the length of Legolas' torso. "If my love for you were less, I could snuff out your shell, steal its breath, and keep you forever. But you must go back to your mortals and to your kind. Go forth and work your magic on them. I will still be here."

"We have nothing but time, Master."

"When war was upon you, I doubted. You were reckless. But Gimli watches your back. It is meet that air and earth should aid each other so."

"I hope he will forgive me, in time."

"He already has. I have sent word through my sister. I was a simple message, only that you would return and are sound." 

Relief swept through Legolas. 

"But do not tarry. They will worry still until they lay hands on you again. This is the way of beings of flesh. But it seems that I understand it." The Maia pressed his hands to Legolas' hair. "Let us go now."  
*******

Having bathed long in the cedar pool, and having eaten the nuts heaped upon his table, Legolas quietly gathered his belongings. In so doing, he saw that Frodo's mark had followed him into the material world. His legs still felt weak, but the well-being in his soul gave him strength. "I will leave my family gifts, My Lord, as an offering, if you will allow me, for your new students."

The shadow quivered. "I will welcome you back to use them any time you wish, Greenleaf."

A troubling thought came to Legolas then. "When I do sail to Valinor, will I still be able to reach you?"

"Nothing could keep me from you. Find a deep cave, prepare it for me, and call my name. I will come to you, though it may take time."

Legolas moved to engulf himself in the shadow. "There are no words."

"Farewell, Elf."

"Farewell, Master."

When he stepped into the sunlight, he saw the great, striped back turned to him, tail lashing on the ground. At his footstep, she whipped about eagerly.

"Miravin," he said for the first time, savoring her name. The responsive snarl warmed his heart. He rubbed the great head, and she butted his chest, nearly knocking him over. "It seems you did not go home after all." He studied her. "Ithilien you will love. But would you be content in Minas Tirith?" The silver eyes gazed calmly back at him. "A question to be answered together then?"

They set a brisk pace. Legolas shared her kills and her warmth at night, healing faster for it. He sang to her, taught her ears words of common tongue, and explained the ways of humans and horses. She rolled on the ground in silent laughter and disbelief, her paws waving in the air.

The few travelers who saw them pass -- the tall, silver-haired elf and the chest-high beast pacing beside him -- were certain the gods had visited them. 

In two weeks, Legolas could see the white city in the distance, and his heart rejoiced.  
*******

**Author's Note:**

> In preparation for this piece, I researched Tolkien's Maiar, their potential powers, and the roles that they play in Tolkien's world. I do not think that the concept of a Maiar ability to inhabit more than one plane of existence is part of Tolkien's cosmology, though I would argue that it is consistent with his cosmology. For some readers, including my trusty Beta, Libitina, this may be so far from Tolkienverse as to be AU.


End file.
